


Temperance Forged

by mmbopp



Series: Temperance [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Best Friends, Brother-Sister Relationships, Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Coming of Age, Dorks in Love, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Family Drama, Gen, Human Noble Origin, Mages and Templars, Mother-Daughter Relationship, Other, Pre-Canon, The feels!
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-17
Updated: 2016-10-27
Packaged: 2018-05-14 13:48:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 9
Words: 5,326
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5746129
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mmbopp/pseuds/mmbopp
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The road to Inquisitor for Temperance Trevelyan would forge a meek, mild-mannered girl into woman destined to change the fate of Thedas</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Lessons

Sunlight glittered off the gilded script above the grand library’s mantle. “ _ Modestus animi, confidens in facto _ ” read the Trevelyan family crest. The ever present motto loomed above the auburn-haired girl of 18 years curled up on the velveteen divan. Her sapphire eyes glued to the page of her favorite book. She was named Temperance so as to embody “Modest in temper”. Well educated and refined as the only daughter of this esteemed family. “Bold in deed” she was not. However, her elder brothers more than compensated for whatever she lacked in boldness. Besides, she could find bravery in the volumes of heroic deeds in her library. A pink rose petal blush was creeping up her freckled cheeks. She had reached the part where the knight and the maiden’s midnight tryst... 

“Temperance Evelyn Louise Trevelyan!” 

“Madame Truffaut.” Temperance’s book snapped shut as she jumped to attention, face still flushed. 

“I have been looking all over this house for you. You are not going to get out of your etiquette lessons, mistress. Now, come along!” Madame’s Orleasian accented staccato demanded immediate compliance. 

Temperance groaned and obligingly trudged behind her tightly coiffed and impeccably dressed governess. 

Temperance’s mind excelled at academics and was fascinated by languages. She could fluently converse in Common Tongue, Rivani, Antivan, Orleasian, Nevarran, and Tevene. 

She adored her dancing lessons, especially since her handsome tutor, Senor Fuentes of Antiva, had secretly taught her to tango. Sure she could expertly waltz and quadrille with the best of them, but there was something deliciously taboo about the tango. Senor Fuentes, only 5 years her senior, was only too happy to indulge his favored pupil. Perhaps, a little too much. Their most recent lesson had ended in a passionate kiss brought on by the lustful steps. Temperance thought it best to keep that part of the lesson to herself. Though, she wouldn’t deny her growing anticipation for their next session.

As a highly-lauded horsewoman, she enjoyed riding the many fine thoroughbred horses of her stable. She could even tolerate the lessons in embroidery and painting, but today was not the day for any of those. Today was etiquette with the rigid Madame Truffaut of Orlais, the renowned finisher of fine, young, noble ladies. 

Despite Madame’s heralded reputation, Temperance dreaded the relentless critiquing of her posture and the tedious nuances of how to navigate a formal dinner table. Skills she would need for her upcoming debutante ball. The preparations had been going on for months. Her mother saw to every minute detail. Temperance was to be presented to the elite echelons of Free Marcher society.

“Sip. Don’t slurp. Keep your back straight.” Madame Truffaut corrected. “I swore to your mother I would make a respectable lady out of you and I never fail on my word. By the time I’m done with you, you will make quite an impression on society.”

“...and be sold to the highest bidder”, Temperance muttered under her breath.

“To secure your future, young mistress. To have a respectable position in society, a home, and protection.”

“But what about marrying for love?” Temperance protested

“Love is only found in your books, girl. A house like this,” she gestured to the fine chateau Temperance called home, “is all you can hope for. And it doesn’t come by marrying for love. Now, show me, which spoon would you use for a fresh blackberry tart?”

Temperance stopped mid-syllable as her face lit up in astonishment. 

“Taran! You’re home!” she exclaimed as she ran into the open arms of her eldest brother. His muscular frame easily lifting hers as they spun.

Temperance felt a tap on her shoulder. “May I cut in?” a dulcet baritone chimed.

“Oh, Cadan! You, too?!” Temperance could hardly contain her glee as she was crushed between her two brothers’ embrace.

“But how? You said in your last letter the Knight-Commander wouldn’t let both of you get furlough!”

“We wouldn’t dare miss our baby sister’s ball” Taran beamed.

“Plus, it pays to be a Trevelyan. Father made a sizable donation to the Chantry” smirked Cadan.

“Madame, I sincerely apologize for the interruption, but I believe this concludes your lesson for today.” Taran’s distinctive double bass voice dismissed the the dumbfounded governess.

The trio left the room in a flurry of laughter.


	2. A Secret Born

Temperance’s petite porcelain frame was dwarfed between her brothers as they walked through the waist-high grass in the pasture. Taran’s untamed chesnut waves and stout, muscled physique boasted his credentials as a fine warrior. Cadan was just as tall as his elder brother, but of more athletic build with strawberry blond curls. His renown was unmatched as an archer and he knew how to use dual daggers in close quarters.

It came as no surprise to Temperance where they were heading. The sparring ring.

“Choose your weapon, milady” teased Cadan.

Temperance picked up the blunted practice sword and gave it a few test swings.

“Somebody’s been practicing.” Taran quipped

“Only when Father isn’t looking,” winked Temperance

Brothers and sister fell into a familiar rhythm. A dance well known to the trio. Advance. Attack. Parry. Repeat.

Until Temperance felt her feet disappear from under her and fell flat on her back, a dull dagger at her neck.

“Someone still needs to learn tactical awareness, Tempe.” chided Cadan’s mischievous baritone.

“Cadan! No fair, you sneaky bastard!” she shoved him off of her and backwards towards the stables.

“Assassins sneak. That’s what they do. Pay attention to your surroundings at all times, 

sis.” Taran offered his sister a hand up, which she swatted away. Cadan and Taran exchanged a knowing glance.

Suddenly, Temperance was scooped up and thrown over Taran’s shoulder like a sack of oats. “Taran! Taran! Put me down!” she insisted, her fists pounding his back.

“You heard the lady, Taran.”

“If you insist, Cadan.” Taran unceremoniously dropped his sister in the horse trough.

Temperance sputtered and splashed. In an instant, everything froze solid.

“Tempe? Tempe? Are you alright?”

“What just happened?!”

“You just froze the horse trough in the middle of summer, that’s what!”

“Oh, no, no, no. This can’t be. It can’t be ... magic. Taran, she’s too old for it to manifest now.”

“It’s not unheard of, Cadan. Regardless, this is our sister we’re talking about!”

“Please don’t tell Mother! The ball, it’s 3 days away!” begged Temperance.

“It’ll be alright, Tempe. This.” Each brother took hold of each of her hands. “This will be our secret.”


	3. A Cold Dinner

Temperance’s growing anxiety made the next days difficult. Her hands were chronically chilled to the touch. She frosted her hand mirror more than once on the first day. She hoped no one else noticed that ice mysteriously appeared in her wine goblets at dinner on the second. Cadan and Taran did their best to deflect attention away from their sister. Distracting Mother and Father with news from their Templar garrison kept the spotlight off of Temperance for the time being.

“Lord and Lady Windsor will be attending your ball, Temperance, darling.” 

Temperance knew. Darling was not a term of endearment in the Trevelyan household. Her mother only used it condescendingly. To remind her of her place in this world of high society and even higher expectations.

“I hear that their son, William, is considered the most eligible bachelor in the Fereldan bannorn. I’m surprised to hear he isn’t already married, what with the Windsor lands and fortune to his name. Well, we’ll just have to change that, won’t we, darling?”

Temperance’s goblet frosted as she tightened her grip. Perhaps fortuitously, the Chantry bells chimed for evening prayers and the Trevelyans adjourned to the family chapel.

Taran and Cadan knelt on either side of their sister in the candlelit nave.

Cadan was first to break the silence. “How are you holding up, Tempe?”

“How would you feel if your mother had your future husband planned out for you and you had no say in the matter?” she whispered harshly.

“Um, Tempe. You forget, Taran and I were promised to the Chantry before we were born.”

“But you both wanted to be Templars!”

“Every male Trevelyan for 6 generations has been a Templar. We’re just doing our duty.” reminded Taran.

“But, you can leave when it’s done. A lady can’t leave a marriage when she wants. What about what I want? I want to marry for love, not duty!”

Taran draped a supportive arm around her shoulders and kissed her hair. Cadan gently held her hand as the trio recited evening prayers.

_ These truths the Maker has revealed to me: _

_ As there is but one world,  _

_ One life, one death, there is  _

_ But one god, and He is our Maker. _

Try as she might, the Chant of Light offered Temperance little comfort this evening. She mouthed the words of the Canticle of Transfigurations until they failed her. Silent teardrops trickled down her face and froze as glittering gems in her palm.


	4. Belle of the Ball

The night of debutante ball finally arrived. Temperance tucked a stray auburn curl behind her ear and smoothed the full skirt of her ivory taffeta ballgown. Matching opera gloves stopped at her elbow. The soft rustle of crinoline brushed against her ankles. She hardly recognized the woman in the mirror. Grandmother’s pearls draped around her neck and matching pearl studs, a debutante gift from Father, graced her ears.  Golden celtic knot embroidery from bodice to hem of her train. Her auburn tresses woven into an equally intricate coif dotted with genuine pearls. This evening was the first time she was allowed to wear rouge and kohl in public. Not to mention the first time she’d worn a corset. Oof, if only she could loosen it a bit.

Her lady’s maid, swatted her hand away from the corset bindings.

“But Marie! I can hardly breathe in this!”

“Now, now, Miss Temperance. Beauty is pain and if there’s no pain, there’s no gain.” 

“By gain, you mean a husband. No man is worth this!”

Marie chuckled and gave a hard, final tug to the corset lacings and turned her around.

“You’re all grown up now, ma cherie.” her voice cracking with tears.

Marie was more of a mother to Temperance than her biological mother. It was Marie who swaddled her as a babe; spent sleepless nights when Temperance was wracked with fevers; checked the armoire every night for dragons; and soothed her childhood bumps and bruises.

“Don’t mind me. I’m just a blubbering old biddy” Marie dabbed her eyes with her

handkerchief.

“Oh, Marie!” Temperance hugged her fiercely.

“Don’t you start crying. You’ll mess up your eyes and then you’ll be late.” The mantle clock chimed seven. “Oh, my! It’s time for your big entrance, cherie. Bonne chance!”

 

Temperance gave a nod to the footmen as the doors to the grand ballroom ceremoniously opened with a flair of trumpet fanfare. 

“Breathe. Just breathe. One foot in front of the other” she reminded herself as she floated down the stairs. For once, thankful for all Madame Truffaut’s rigorous training. She politely curtsied and took the arm of William Windsor, who was waiting at the bottom of the staircase.

Temperance couldn’t deny this suitor was pleasant to look at: tall, athletic man of 30 years, his bronze waves secured at his nape with navy satin ribbon, which complemented his finely tailored waistcoat and breeches of the same color. He wore a white silk cravat tied in the latest fashion. His eyes were like fine Antivan brandy. Only the tremor of his hand betrayed him. Temperance could see he was just as nervous as she was. He carefully escorted her to the dais where her parents sat.

William bowed deeply and Temperance offered an expertly executed formal court curtsy. “Take that, Madame Truffaut!” she boasted to herself.

Lord and Lady Trevelyan nodded their approval. The smile on her father's face was genuine; his own sapphire eyes glittered, so full of pride. Her mother's face, however, was a veneer. Temperance knew she must already have a litany of flaws tallied against her daughter.

William and Temperance turned to face the guests. The page boys hurriedly bustled her train as the announcement was made.

“Lords and Ladies! May I officially present to you for the first time, my daughter, Lady Temperance Evelyn Louise Trevelyan of Ostwick!” her father’s voice boomed with joy. The crowd erupted in thunderous applause. Temperance chuckled to herself as she was sure she heard her brothers’ wolf-whistles above the ovations.

“May I have your first dance, milady?” William asked when the roar subsided.

Temperance’s father nodded his approval. He leaned to Temperance's ear,“If you tire of him, Tempe, tread on his toes” and gave her a sly wink.

 

The flurry of dancing, music, and revelry that followed soon became a bit too much for Temperance. She found herself on the garden terrace gazing up at constellations. From the ballroom behind her she could hear a din of laughter and clinking champagne glasses above the waltzing chords of the string quartet. Temperance brought her thought back down to Earth as she glanced down at her own glass to watch it frost over, its contents crystallized. She jumped when a bronze-haired man stepped from the shadows.

“A copper for your thoughts, milady?”

“Oh, Serah Windsor! I didn’t see you there.”

“Please Serah Windsor is my father. Call me William.”

“Temperance. Though, my family calls me Tempe.”

“Ah yes. Your family. Your brothers have been relentless in their interrogations and I’ve been hiding from your mother for a few dances now”

“Taran and Cadan can be over-protective,” she chuckled “Though, I know they are just looking out for me. I wish I could excuse my mother. Ugh, that woman and her scheming!”

“Such is our lot as children of noble families. It’s all about lineage and fortunes, nevermind what we want for ourselves.”

“Exactly! I know in my head that duty requires me to marry. But in my heart, I want to marry for love, not obligation.”

“I could never marry for love. No matter how much I wished it were so.” William sighed.

“What do you mean?” Temperance looked puzzled

“Let’s say, my parents do not approve of my beloved. He and I.. ”

“He?”

“He and I have were friends for the first few years. Lovers for many more. Our revelation was not received as well as we had hoped. My father sent him to manage our holdings in Orlais. An obvious ploy to save face. My parents will see that I’m quickly married off in his absence. They’d do anything to preserve the Windsor legacy. Duty above all else.” he lamented.

“If my mother has any say in the matter, I’m the lucky girl.”

“Temperance,” William took hold of her gloved hand, blaming its chill on the cool night air, “I can’t promise you love. I can promise you stability and protection. I will provide you a reputable home and you will always have my respect.”

“Is that so? If you put it that way, what girl could say no?” 

“Tempe? Tempe? There you are! Come dance with me!” Temperance knew that double bass anywhere. She turned to see Taran’s beaming face and he offered his arm.

“Duty calls.” She winked and with a swishing flourish of ivory taffeta, she returned to the revelry of the ballroom.


	5. An Ill North Wind

Temperance awoke alone in the tangle of her duvet and sheets upon her eiderdown bed. The vestigial streaks of purple sky said was still not quite the dawn of a new day so she had some time to reflect before Marie would come with breakfast and throw open the curtains of her chambers.

Her thoughts turned to William Windsor and his beloved’s forced absence. She pitied his situation. However, if she had to marry, at least she could grow to respect him.

“Another victim of duty” she sighed as she slid her feet into her rabbit fur-lined slippers. She perched on her vanity stool and brushed her russet mane.

Her bedchamber door creaked open. “Bonjour, Marie.”

But it was not Marie she saw in the vanity reflection. Her mother’s smile was not for her daughter. It was one of devious accomplishment, like when one’s underhanded scheme had come to fruition.

“It will be the wedding of the year!” she gloated

“Wait. What are you talking about, Mother?”

“Why, darling, yours and William Windsor’s, of course! It’s all settled. You two will marry within a fortnight.”

“I can’t marry him! We only just met last night!” Her hand mirror shattered, its frozen shards glittering in the morning sun. “I don’t love him!”

“Love has nothing to do with it, darling. You can marry him and you will do as I say!”

“Because money and land holdings have everything to do with it. That’s all you’ve ever cared about or wanted. What about what I want?!”

An unnatural winter’s chill crept into Temperance’s bedchamber as she glared at her mother. Wind-driven snow furiously swirled about the room. The unmistakable supernatural twinkle of mana among the flurries.

Lady Trevelyan stood horrified, shivering violently amidst Temperance’s conjured blizzard. “Maker, preserve me!” she cried as she fled the room, slamming the door behind her. She rushed to her Templar sons. Lady Trevelyan collapsed to the floor in a hysterical heap, icicles still clinging to her lashes, “Magic! She has magic! My plans are ruined!”

Taran and Cadan tore down the hallway towards Temperance’s wing. 

“Tempe! Tempe!” Taran’s fists pounding her door. No answer.

Cadan looked at his brother wide eyed with fear. Their combined kicks splintered the icebound door. The brothers rushed to comfort their hypothermic sister. The antarctic conditions soon subsided

“There’s n-n-no denying this n-now.” she stuttered

“Shh, Tempe. Let’s get you warm.” Taran scooped her up and carried her out of the snow to the grand library across the hall. He set her down near the fireplace and wrapped her in blankets as Cadan struck his flint. 

 

The physician assured her family that Temperance would recover in time. However, her magic must be reported to the Templars immediately, as Chantry law required.

Lord Trevelyan used every ounce of influence he had and that was barely enough sway to ensure that she would be enrolled at Ostwick’s Circle of Magi, where Cadan and Taran could look after her.

The day came for the Trevelyan trio to leave their parent’s household, bound for Ostwick Circle.

Lord Trevelyan embraced each of his children. Temperance, he held tighter and longer. He kissed a tear from her cheek before letting her go.

“Aren’t you going to say goodbye to your daughter, milady?”

“I have no daughter.” Lady Trevelyan turned and coldly walked away.


	6. An Education

The first few months at the Circle were so intense that Temperance almost wished for Madame Truffaut’s etiquette lessons instead. With Taran and Cadan’s guidance, she learned to navigate the Circle’s strict rules for freshman apprentices. She was even beginning to gain to friends.

Though any applied magic, besides ice, was not her strongest suit, Temperance took easily to the academics of magic. Her knowledge of languages helped her impress the head librarian and landed her a position as a research assistant. She suspected her brothers may have had a hand in that, although neither would admit it.

Regardless, Temperance was only to happy to accept refuge among the dusty tomes. Books never judged her pitiable fireballs, her inadequate attempts at spirit healing, nor her paltry lightning bolts, which were no better than static electricity. No, Books offered knowledge and escape into worlds of valiant deeds and happy endings.

The stacks also provided a place for semi-private family gatherings. Taran and Cadan visited on their daily rounds. They shared letters from home and tried to provide a modicum of normalcy for their sister.

“Mother still won’t speak of me, then?” Temperance inquired. “Magic doesn’t negate the fact she has a daughter.”

“Maybe she’ll change her mind, just give her time.” Taran assured her.

“Don’t give her false hope, Taran.” Cadan rebuked “You know as well as I that Mother struck her name from family records and blacked-out Tempe’s portrait.”

“That’s it, then? I’m as good as dead to her.”

Taran changed to a happier subject. “Father misses you terribly. He wrote as much in his last letter. Your freshman year is almost up. You’ll soon get your own letters and be allowed visitors.”

“Maker, bless that man. Did you know he told me to tread on William Windsor’s toes at my ball?”

“No wonder I saw the poor man limping through waltzes.” teased Cadan

Temperance laughed and punched Cadan’s arm. He and Taran were happy to see her smile again. “We hear that William ran off to Orlais to rejoin with his lover against his family’s wishes. It’s still quite the scandal.”

“Good for him! I’m glad to know he followed his heart. Even more so that we escaped a loveless arranged marriage. Though I think he may have gotten the better part of the deal. Speaking of escapes, You two will be late to sparring if you don’t leave now. Besides, this heap of books doesn’t reshelf itself.”

Temperance bid farewell to her brothers. She gathered a stack of leather bound volumes and headed towards the Cosmology section. A secluded area of the archives, rarely frequented by freshman apprentices. Temperance was surprised to hear whimpering cries. She could make out two shadows shoved against the stone wall. One form wearing what looked to be tattered mage robes, torn from collar to waist. Her skirts shoved up to her hips.

“Be quiet, filthy mage!” hissed the male form wearing Templar armor as he slid his hands up his hostage’s naked thigh.

“Stop! Please! You’re hurting me!”

The Templar slapped her across the face, and shoved her hard to her knees. “I know just how to shut your pretty mouth.”

“Hey! Leave her alone!” Temperance shouted making her presence known.

The cowering girl saw her chance and ran.

“Now you’ve gone and spoiled my fun. You’ll do nicely.” he sneered, turning his gaze at Temperance, drawing a dagger from his belt.

Brandishing the glinting steel, he backed Temperance into a corner. She felt the sharp, cold metal against her cheek. “This is what I do to pretty, uppity mages who don’t know there place.”

In a flash, her world pulled hard to port. Barreled sideways, she came to a jarring stop on the flagstone floor. She put her hand to her cheek only to feel a deep gash. Looking beyond her bloodied fingers, she saw Taran wrestle into position above her captor and deliver a knock-out punch.

“Tempe, are you alright?” Taran asked, winded.

“I’m fine. Where’d the other girl go? Is she okay?”

“She’s with Cadan on her way to the infirmary. From the looks of it, that’s where you should go, too. That’s going to need stitches.” He tore the hem from his tunic as a bandage.

“How did you know where to find me?” Temperance winced.

“Cadan and I had heard Jareth brag about his visits to the Cosmology archives. We were on patrol nearby when the hysterical girl ran in to us. And when I saw that he had his mangy paws on my baby sister...well, you know the rest.”


	7. Scars Fade

Temperance sat in front of her vanity in her chambers. Her trembiling hands held a letter. Knight-Commander had written to tell her Jareth was convicted and sentenced to prison. She looked up into her mirror reminded of her ordeal. A fresh red scar snaked across her cheek to her temple. It still stung as she traced her finger along its length. She had never considered herself a vain person, but now...

Cadan appeared behind her and hugged his sister. “You know, it won’t heal right if you keep poking at it, Tempe.”

“I can never get use to your sneaking up on me.” She relaxed into her brother’s embrace.

“Tactical awareness.” He chided.

“Whatever.” she snapped, rolling her eyes.

“Hey now, don’t go killing the messenger. I came to bring you good news. Father’s letter said he arranged a visit. He’ll be here in 2 days.”

“Mother still disavows my existence, I take it?”

“Tempe, you know she’s a hard woman. Devout to the core.”

“And I’m her inconvenient mage daughter who ruined her perfect plans. And now look at me, I’m ruined, too.” She sniffed.

“You are beautiful, Tempe. The scar will fade in time. Father, Taran, and me, we will never fade from you.”

Temperance smiled and sighed. "I miss home. I miss my lessons. Seems I've traded my gilded cage for one made of magic and cold stone"

"Com'on Tempe. Don't tell me you miss Madame Truffaut?"

"No. I miss riding in the forest. Language tutors and fine dresses. I miss breakfast with Marie. Mostly I miss Senor Fuentes and his tango" she smirked.

"That sly Antivan bastard! I knew he'd be trouble."

"Oh! Cadan! I was the one who kissed him! And don't go judging me for an innocent kiss. Remember that pretty scullery maid?"

Cadan's ears blushed, his face a sheepish grin. "HA! I knew it!"

"Touche, sister."


	8. Tumbling Tower

Taran and Cadan were true to their word. Her brothers and Father’s support over the next 10 years was invaluable to her. To see them beaming with pride when she passed her Harrowing, when she was promoted to Librarian, then Head Librarian, made her forget her struggles. The Trevelyan’s were even hopeful about the upcoming vote. Mage freedom. What would the world be like if mages could govern themselves? Could they live openly where they pleased? Could they marry?

Temperance put down her quill and looked up from her desk.

“Marcelle, I told you to reshelf those books an hour ago.” Temperance rounded the corner ready to admonish her new assistant when the apprentice burst through the door

“They did it! They voted for Mage independance!” her exclamations cut short by the Templar sword that erupted from her chest. Her last breaths gurgled and her mouth sputtering bloody foam.

“Marcelle!” Temperance screamed and ran for the rear entrance of the archives. If she could just make it to the Cadan and Taran, she knew she would be safe.

Ostwick Tower had descended into chaos. She ran down the corridors against the panicked crowd. Screams and metallic clashes filled the air.

“TEMPE!” Taran thundered as he swiftly shield bashed and dispatched his opponent.

“Taran! I’m over here!”

He ran to his sister and greedily embraced her. “Thank the Maker! The Knight-Commander’s gone mad. He called for the Right of Annulment. I had to find you.”

“Where’s Cadan?”

“Readying the horses. We’re to meet him in the courtyard. We must go now! Hurry!”

Taran fought their way through the pandemonium to the garden courtyard. On any other day, Temperance would have admired the dogwoods and redbuds in bloom. Not this day. The white tulips were spattered with blood. The scent of hyacinths mixed with human offal and gore. Near the gatehouse stood Cadan, holding the reins to 2 skittish horses.

“Tempe! You’re safe! I’d thought for sure…” Cadan clung to his sister.

“She’s fine. There’ll be more time for a reunion later.” Taran insisted.

Temperance shoved her foot in the stirrup and reached to grab the saddle horn, only to be pushed aside by Cadan’s athletic frame. The sickening whiz and thud of an arrow finding its target.

“NO!”  Temperance cried as he crumpled to the ground.

Cadan took an arrow to the neck; he was bleeding out quickly. “Tactical awareness” he choked and smiled weakly. He gasped for breath, then went limp.

“CADAN! NO!” Temperance cradled her brother’s lifeless body.

Taran fell to his knees, tears streaking his face. He held sister as she wailed and sobbed. “We have to go, Tempe.”

“We can’t just leave him!”

“There’s nothing more we can do. Cadan would want us to live! We have to go now!”

Temperance snapped the Chantry symbol necklace from Cadan's neck.

Taran threw himself into the saddle and lifted Temperance in front of him. He kicked the horse and they galloped away from Ostwick Circle.

 

"If we go any further, I'm afraid this poor animal will collapse. We'll camp here for the night, Tempe."

Temperance sat listless on a log while her brother started a fire. She stared at the bloodstains on her robes. Cadan's blood. She tenderly rubbed his necklace between her fingers. His aqua eyes gleamed like Grandmother's jewels. The way his cheeks dimpled with his roguish smile. His jovial laughter echoed in her mind. Such joie de vivre and mischief she would never hear again. Tears rolled down her cheeks.

"I miss him, too, sis."

"Where will we go, Taran?" she sniffed

"I hear the mages and Chantry are calling a Conclave in Haven. We should be there within a week. Maybe two. For the meantime, we should probably lie low." Taran looked at his sister's tattered robes. "We'll need clothes for traveling. Looks like there's a village nearby. We'll stop there for supplies in the morning."

 


	9. Tears

"If we go any further, I'm afraid this poor animal will collapse. We'll camp here for the night, Tempe." Taran dismounted the bay mare and helped his stunned sister down. He staked the exhausted animal and began unsaddling it. Only then had he noticed its name tooled into its leather bridle: Angel. Angel, indeed. He whispered thanks in her ear and patted her muzzle.

In the waning twilight, Temperance sat listless on a stump while her brother started a fire. Taran struck his flint on his dagger, She stared at the bloodstains on her robes. Cadan's blood mixed with some of her own. Her hand wandered up to her collar, finding a leather cord, she fished Cadan’s amulet from beneath her neckline. She tenderly rubbed the image of Andraste Triumphant between her fingers. His aqua eyes shimmered from behind ginger curls in her memory like Grandmother's jewels. The way his cheeks dimpled with his roguish smile. His jovial laughter echoed in her mind. Such joie de vivre and mischief she would never hear again. Tears rolled down her cheeks.

"I miss him, too, sis."

"Where will we go, Taran?" she sniffed

“For the meantime, we should probably lie low." Taran eyeing his sister's tattered mage robes. "We'll need clothes for traveling. I can see a crossroads ahead, which means there’s a village nearby. We'll stop there for supplies in the morning. Everything will be fine."  
Taran draped his red woolen cloak around his sister’s petite frame as he sat down next to her. Temperance leaned in against her brother’s solid frame; her head found purchase on his shoulder. Taran kissed her auburn curls and silently held her through waves of tears. Taran, her anchor in the storm.

 

As promised, Taran rode into the nearby village and bartered for some clothes and supplies for Temperance and himself. A simple, homespun frock, possibly dyed with onion skins, given its shade of yellow-brown, and homely apron replaced her tattered mage robes. Peasant clothes were vastly different than the mage robes to which she had grown accustomed. They were even further still from the ivory gown she wore at her debutante ball. They were, however, oddly liberating. Nothing to signify her status as a mage, save for the tooled leather belt and fur-lined sporran containing her supply of lyrium. She didn’t think she would be casting spells anytime soon, but she knew Taran would need it. Lyrium withdrawal was an unpleasant experience that she would spare him from if she could. She watched her discarded rags burn, her tears returned with renewed vigor. A twig snapped behind her and she jumped, reaching for the Fade, ice crackled in her hand. Taran approached cautiously allowing her to calm down. Snowflakes fluttered to the ground as she released her hold on the Fade.

 

When she quieted, Taran spoke, "I hear the mages and Chantry are calling a Conclave at the Temple of Sacred Ashes in Haven. We should be there within a week. Maybe two.”


End file.
